Day Seven
After the studly Ms. Banks etched her classroom commandments in stone, she called roll and then promptly announced that the person we were seated next to would be our permanent lab partner for the course of the year. At this unwanted news, the skinny girl's hand popped up in the air.
"Excuse me, Ms. Banks? I'd like to change my seat please."
"Ms.?"
"Taylor. Janissa Taylor, ma'am."
"Yes, Miss Taylor? What's the problem?"
"I can't sit next to him. He frightens me." Chuckles began to simmer about the classroom as Ms. Banks adjusted her magnifying glasses as to get a good look at the imposing 4 ft. 90 pound weakling that frightened prissy little Miss Taylor.
"He frightens you? How exactly does he do that?" I wanted to hide my head. Run out of the class. Disappear. I knew what was coming. Miss Janissa Taylor suddenly got very intense and spoke in an extremely loud whisper.
"He talks to himself! Says he talks to ghosts! I don't wanna be sittin' round somebody who's always talking to ghosts, Ms. Banks! My mama said that's just not natural!"
"It's true, Ms Banks. You can ask anyone," Corey Hines rang in from behind me. He never liked me, not one little bit. Then suddenly there were affirmations coming from all corners of the classroom.
Ms. Banks took a very keen interest in me, but not before admonishing Corey, "The next time you speak out of turn young man, you'll find yourself nose first in the corner. You have something to say, well then you raise your hand and wait to be called upon. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am. But it is true. He really does talk to himself. Says he talks to ghosts. That's why he ain't got no friends."
And then there were more affirmations and people began to chime in, agreeing that I was, in fact, a weirdo.
"Class, settle down," roared Ms. Banks. Ordinarily, I might have been fighting back the tears or coming to my own defense, but you see by this point it would have been useless to do any of those things. I was used to being the object of ridicule. It didn't make it any easier, I had just learned how to cope. I'd focus in on one thing and just zone everything out. On this day, I remember focusing in a single long wiry strand of hair coming out of Ms. Banks' chin. I saw her mouth moving, but I couldn't begin to tell you anything she said. My face was deadpan, my jaw locked in resolute detachment. Next thing I knew Miss Janissa Taylor was packing up her books and moving across the room. I was trying to convince myself that I could care less when suddenly, everyone turned to look at the back of the room. The vice principal's voice came from behind me as she interjected something, something about a new student. A transfer. I followed suit and turned around. That's when I laid eyes on him for the first time. Woodward Harris the third, the vice principal announced.
I knew right from the start that I would love him. And I also knew that my unheralded love for this strange boy would bring me worlds of pain. It's inexplicable how I knew this, but I felt it so strongly, like a sharp knife to my ribs. He was unlike any boy I had ever seen. Not just because he was white. There were actually a few white kids at our school, though it was indeed a rarity. This grey- eyed, dusty haired white boy, with freckles scattered about his face and his arms, walked to the front of the class under a sea of stares. He didn't have a bag. He only carried a book in his right hand that I knew spoke of sorrow. His saunter was cool and bitter and he kept his other hand in his pocket. He turned to face his new classmates and was completely silent and withdrawn. I thought he looked ... scared. From a distance I could hear Ms. Banks voice, but I still didn't know what she was saying. I just saw her point her fat, blunt finger in my direction. Thank God Janissa was a bitch. Had she not complained and gotten herself move, I would have never felt the earth shake when he walked in my direction and took the seat next to mine.
Of course, because I could think of nothing else except Woodward Harris the third, the entire period passed without me uttering one single word to him. He had barely even glanced in my direction, just to acknowledge that there was someone sitting in the seat next to him. I did notice however that he hadn't listened to anything Ms. Banks had said all class anymore than I had. As much as my thoughts were preoccupied with the mystery of him, he was smothered by those mysteries. He was so far away. Then the bell rang. The damned bell was like a God, controlling all our destinies. He grabbed his book and left.
At lunch someone spat on my pizza. Then he dared me to eat it. I wish I could have beat him up. I really wanted to. All I did was ignore him as he laughed about it with his friends. I drank my chocolate milk and picked over a few strings of wilted lettuce the school cafeteria passed off as a healthy salad. I looked up and Woodward Harris the third was taking a seat across from me. Nobody else sat anywhere around me. It was just me and Woodward, sitting across from one another. He acknowledged me, if only slightly, and then began to eat his pizza as if he hadn't eaten in days. He made loud smacking noises while he chewed his food. Any other time it would have been annoying as hell, but I found it fascinating. He gulped down his milk, white, and he didn't touch his salad. He looked at me as I was trying my hardest not to look at him. Then he let loose a loud resounding belch. Then, at last, he spoke.
"Excuse me." Yep. He was from the deep south, too. I think I smiled, and that was not something I did very often.
"What's your name," he asked me, clear out of the blue. I was so surprised it took me a moment to think about my name.
"Joshua Peterson," I answered. "You're in my science class."
"No shit, " he retorted. I was such a dumbass. He looked around nervously, fidgeting for an escape. I didn't want him to leave.
"S0, uh, your name is Woodward, right?" He shot me a mean look.
"No. It's Woody. Woodward's a faggoty name."
I didn't know how to respond to that, so in typical dumbass fashion, I said, "It is?"
He looked at me queerly for a moment, trying to determine if my earnestness was truly earnest or sarcasm. "Yea," he said. "It is."
"Excuse me, Ms. Banks? I'd like to change my seat please."
"Ms.?"
"Taylor. Janissa Taylor, ma'am."
"Yes, Miss Taylor? What's the problem?"
"I can't sit next to him. He frightens me." Chuckles began to simmer about the classroom as Ms. Banks adjusted her magnifying glasses as to get a good look at the imposing 4 ft. 90 pound weakling that frightened prissy little Miss Taylor.
"He frightens you? How exactly does he do that?" I wanted to hide my head. Run out of the class. Disappear. I knew what was coming. Miss Janissa Taylor suddenly got very intense and spoke in an extremely loud whisper.
"He talks to himself! Says he talks to ghosts! I don't wanna be sittin' round somebody who's always talking to ghosts, Ms. Banks! My mama said that's just not natural!"
"It's true, Ms Banks. You can ask anyone," Corey Hines rang in from behind me. He never liked me, not one little bit. Then suddenly there were affirmations coming from all corners of the classroom.
Ms. Banks took a very keen interest in me, but not before admonishing Corey, "The next time you speak out of turn young man, you'll find yourself nose first in the corner. You have something to say, well then you raise your hand and wait to be called upon. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am. But it is true. He really does talk to himself. Says he talks to ghosts. That's why he ain't got no friends."
And then there were more affirmations and people began to chime in, agreeing that I was, in fact, a weirdo.
"Class, settle down," roared Ms. Banks. Ordinarily, I might have been fighting back the tears or coming to my own defense, but you see by this point it would have been useless to do any of those things. I was used to being the object of ridicule. It didn't make it any easier, I had just learned how to cope. I'd focus in on one thing and just zone everything out. On this day, I remember focusing in a single long wiry strand of hair coming out of Ms. Banks' chin. I saw her mouth moving, but I couldn't begin to tell you anything she said. My face was deadpan, my jaw locked in resolute detachment. Next thing I knew Miss Janissa Taylor was packing up her books and moving across the room. I was trying to convince myself that I could care less when suddenly, everyone turned to look at the back of the room. The vice principal's voice came from behind me as she interjected something, something about a new student. A transfer. I followed suit and turned around. That's when I laid eyes on him for the first time. Woodward Harris the third, the vice principal announced.
I knew right from the start that I would love him. And I also knew that my unheralded love for this strange boy would bring me worlds of pain. It's inexplicable how I knew this, but I felt it so strongly, like a sharp knife to my ribs. He was unlike any boy I had ever seen. Not just because he was white. There were actually a few white kids at our school, though it was indeed a rarity. This grey- eyed, dusty haired white boy, with freckles scattered about his face and his arms, walked to the front of the class under a sea of stares. He didn't have a bag. He only carried a book in his right hand that I knew spoke of sorrow. His saunter was cool and bitter and he kept his other hand in his pocket. He turned to face his new classmates and was completely silent and withdrawn. I thought he looked ... scared. From a distance I could hear Ms. Banks voice, but I still didn't know what she was saying. I just saw her point her fat, blunt finger in my direction. Thank God Janissa was a bitch. Had she not complained and gotten herself move, I would have never felt the earth shake when he walked in my direction and took the seat next to mine.
Of course, because I could think of nothing else except Woodward Harris the third, the entire period passed without me uttering one single word to him. He had barely even glanced in my direction, just to acknowledge that there was someone sitting in the seat next to him. I did notice however that he hadn't listened to anything Ms. Banks had said all class anymore than I had. As much as my thoughts were preoccupied with the mystery of him, he was smothered by those mysteries. He was so far away. Then the bell rang. The damned bell was like a God, controlling all our destinies. He grabbed his book and left.
At lunch someone spat on my pizza. Then he dared me to eat it. I wish I could have beat him up. I really wanted to. All I did was ignore him as he laughed about it with his friends. I drank my chocolate milk and picked over a few strings of wilted lettuce the school cafeteria passed off as a healthy salad. I looked up and Woodward Harris the third was taking a seat across from me. Nobody else sat anywhere around me. It was just me and Woodward, sitting across from one another. He acknowledged me, if only slightly, and then began to eat his pizza as if he hadn't eaten in days. He made loud smacking noises while he chewed his food. Any other time it would have been annoying as hell, but I found it fascinating. He gulped down his milk, white, and he didn't touch his salad. He looked at me as I was trying my hardest not to look at him. Then he let loose a loud resounding belch. Then, at last, he spoke.
"Excuse me." Yep. He was from the deep south, too. I think I smiled, and that was not something I did very often.
"What's your name," he asked me, clear out of the blue. I was so surprised it took me a moment to think about my name.
"Joshua Peterson," I answered. "You're in my science class."
"No shit, " he retorted. I was such a dumbass. He looked around nervously, fidgeting for an escape. I didn't want him to leave.
"S0, uh, your name is Woodward, right?" He shot me a mean look.
"No. It's Woody. Woodward's a faggoty name."
I didn't know how to respond to that, so in typical dumbass fashion, I said, "It is?"
He looked at me queerly for a moment, trying to determine if my earnestness was truly earnest or sarcasm. "Yea," he said. "It is."
posted by Saturn at 6:36 PM
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